Where Hope Prevails

by Janette Oke

  “Besides,” Jarrick said as they stood, “I’m sure I’ll be happy with whatever you decide to do for decorations, Beth. I can’t imagine what I could suggest.”

  But I want to do this with you, Jarrick, she mourned silently.

  “I know I wouldn’t trust you any farther than I could throw you, Jack,” Philip joked, and the men laughed again. “I’ll be here most of the day if you want to take up wedding plans again.”

  “It’s a nice sanctuary,” Jarrick said as they walked around. He seemed unaware that she was very quiet, withdrawn. He stepped onto the stage. “Do you think we’ll have enough seating? How many are you expecting to travel from Toronto?”

  “Only my family—not even all of them,” she answered, her voice low. “Margret and John won’t be able to come because of the new baby.” She averted her eyes. “But Julie and my parents will probably take a train out a week or so early.”

  “I don’t think I’ll have many family members either. My parents will come, of course, and my two younger brothers and sister. But I think that’ll be all. My other brother, the oldest of us, lives way out east in Halifax now, so he can’t come.” He cleared his throat and came down the aisle to take a seat near where Beth was standing. “Will you sit with me for a minute? There’s something I want to try to say.”

  She lowered herself onto the pew next to him and waited, still feeling disappointed at how things had stalled and at Jarrick’s lack of interest in the details.

  “I feel I need to tell you about my mother, Beth. But I’m not sure how. And I don’t want to sound . . . well, disrespectful.”

  “Oh?”

  He winced and said slowly, “My mother can be rather . . . difficult. I do think she means well, but she’s quite outspoken with opinions, ideas.”

  An image of Beth’s own mother came to mind. “I understand.”

  “No, you probably don’t, Beth, I’m afraid. But I suppose a wedding is one of those times when those with strong ideas can’t keep from expressing them. I want you to know that my one strong idea is that I want to marry you. But I’m not worried about all the details. Actually, it’s kind of a woman’s thing anyway, isn’t it?” He allowed himself a chuckle. “But I’ll support you—with all of your decisions. I promise to do that.”

  You’re not going to help?

  He sighed. “The thing I can do for you is to delay my parents’ arrival until the last possible moment. That way, there’s not much time left for her to say anything.”

  Beth studied a seam on her skirt and tried to understand what exactly he meant.

  “She likes to be in charge, Beth. And I don’t want her to undermine all that you’ve done.” Jarrick shook his head. “I don’t know how my father manages. She questions almost everything he does, even farming decisions.”

  “She does?” Beth’s eyes were wide as she stared at Jarrick.

  “Yes.” He shook his head. “I’m so glad you’re not like that, sweetheart. I know you’re my helpmate. You’re so good about trusting me, letting me lead. It’s a character trait in you that I deeply appreciate. But then again, you’re so good at managing things too. I know you’ll do a wonderful job with the wedding plans. I can’t wait to see how you whip this room into shape.” He reached for her hand.

  Beth sat in shock. I have to do it all? And your mother is going to hate it? Is that what you’re saying? She took a breath before trying to respond but then decided against saying anything at all.

  It turned out that Philip needed to leave shortly after Sunday dinner, so Beth’s weekend with Jarrick ended rather abruptly. Too soon they were loading his bag into the trunk of Philip’s car.

  “It was so wonderful to have you here.” Beth’s whisper sounded a bit shaky.

  Jarrick placed a hand around her waist and stepped closer. “It won’t be long until I’m back again. Maybe in a couple weeks or so, if I can manage it. I don’t think my next assignment will be quite so far away.”

  “That would be . . . nice.” She sniffed and looked into his eyes.

  “I’m very glad to know Marnie’s staying with you, Beth. When you told me you were living alone, especially there, I was afraid you wouldn’t like it very much.”

  “Actually, I don’t.” She dropped her gaze, afraid she’d been too blunt.

  “Well, it won’t be much longer. I hope it helps to remember that.”

  Beth shook her head. “It does—and it doesn’t. But I’ll make do somehow.”

  “That’s the courage and pluck I love about you.” He bent down to kiss her forehead. “And, Beth,” he added, “I want to say, I noticed how you reacted to Robert. I get the sense you don’t like the man very much.”

  “You mean, Mr. Robert Harris Hughes?” She knew she was allowing pent-up emotions to fall rather unfairly on Robert’s shoulders . . . and now on Jarrick’s.

  He ducked a bit to look into her face. “I hope he can spend some more time talking to Philip. I think they communicate pretty well with one another, with a shared respect that might be important for him in order to see faith in a new light.”

  “He doesn’t grate on your nerves? I find him very irritating. His airs, his self-importance.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” Jarrick shook his head. “No, he doesn’t bother me. He seems to be honestly looking for wisdom, but I was afraid you didn’t see him like that.”

  “How can he not bother you? Who knows what he’s saying to those students?”

  “Pray about it, sweetheart. And I will too. You never know what God is saying to the man in ways we cannot see.”

  As Beth watched Philip’s car pull away in a cloud of dust, she realized she and Jarrick hadn’t even decided on the number of attendants. Surely he would have an opinion at least about that. Right now it felt to Beth as if Jarrick had no sooner arrived than his visit became just a memory.

  I wish I knew when he’ll be back again. I think it would have been so much easier to say good-bye if I could count down to when he’d return. But maybe . . . maybe that’s what it’s like to be in love with a Mountie.

  CHAPTER

  9

  THE WEEK BEGAN with Beth’s new daily ritual. She walked with a handful of scraps to the bottom step and attempted to summon the obstinate cat to a meal. Marnie simply shrugged at her efforts and walked on to school.

  “I’m here, you silly beastie,” Beth coaxed. “Come on, get your breakfast. Come on out.” She knew exactly where to expect those yellow eyes under the nearby bush, but the cat refused to advance even a whisker from her hiding place.

  Beth took one small step forward. “I see you. Don’t be shy.” Her words were almost inaudible. Another step. The eyes blinked dark and then slowly showed again. Beth stooped to make herself smaller and, hopefully, less of a threat. “Come on, kitty. Let me pet you, just a little. I don’t bite.” She took a scrap of food and held it out as far as she could reach in front of her. “Here, kitty-kitty.”

  No response. Another step forward, and she tossed the morsel on the ground near Penelope’s nose. Still no movement toward her.

  Beth turned her body away, crouching low and waiting, just the corner of an eye observing. Nothing. She faced the cat again and held out another choice tidbit. “You can trust me,” she whispered.

  With no more time to spare, Beth placed the remainder of the scraps on the ground and moved slowly away, one step at a time. Even then Penelope held her ground, though the orange nose quivered. “I’ll see you tomorrow, silly kitty. God bless you anyway,” she conceded, feeling just a bit sheepish.

  “Miss Thatcher,” a male voice interrupted, “is something wrong?”

  “Pardon me?”

  Her teaching rival was standing at the corner of the building, hands thrust in his pockets as if he’d been positioned there for a while. “I noticed you here a few days ago also. Are you looking for something you’ve lost?”

  Beth felt her face grow hot. “It’s nothing. I was just . . . I was just feeding . . . It’s not
hing.”

  “You’re feeding an animal?” He looked at the morsels on the ground. “Is that wise, Miss Thatcher? I’m afraid it will only encourage more vermin to linger nearby.”

  Beth shook her head and began to hastily gather her school things from the stairs. “It’s just a cat, Mr. Harris . . . uh, Robert. Left by the previous owner. I don’t want it to starve.”

  “Oh, cats are very adept at surviving in the wild. I’m sure that—”

  “This one, Robert, has been a household pet and was no more than skin and bones until I began feeding it.” Her words sounded more clipped than she intended.

  “I see.” He took a step closer and reached out a hand. “Well, you seem to be ready for school. May I carry your bag? It appears rather heavy.”

  “No. Thank you, no.” Beth hoisted the strap to her shoulder.

  Undeterred, he waited, evidently intending to escort her across the street. There was nothing to do but fall in step beside him.

  He finally said, “Miss Thatcher, may I make a request of you?”

  “What is it?”

  “My name—you see, it’s rather important to me that the students maintain the appropriate degree of respect. Would you be so kind as to continue to refer to me by my more formal title, rather than with familiarity? I’ve worked rather hard to lay a solid foundation of respect in my classroom. I would appreciate very much your consideration on this matter.”

  Beth raised a hand to her warm cheek. How can he make such an issue of this—and with not a student in sight? But I suppose I have no grounds to deny him. “Fine then, I shall respect your wishes and use your full name.” If I say your name at all.

  “Thank you, Miss Thatcher. I consider that a demonstration of goodwill.”

  Beth forced a smile. He seemed entirely indifferent to her tone and distant attitude. She remembered Jarrick’s words and tried to shake away her irritation.

  “And one thing more,” he dared to add. “I would like to propose another meeting. I’d like an opportunity to explain my methods further. I feel our school would benefit from our being of the same mind.”

  He has just crossed the line. That I cannot do. Beth could almost envision the smug face of Nick Petrakis, the young man who had beguiled and deceived her family during the previous summer. That face was now superimposed over Robert’s. Oh no, not again. I am no longer afraid to stand my ground. I refuse to be coerced into allowing harm to come to the students I love. She stopped short in the center of the street. “Mr. Harris Hughes, I’m afraid I do not agree with your philosophy of education. And I feel quite confident that my students are advancing nicely without your methods.”

  His face puckered in genuine surprise. “I had no idea you felt thusly. I was certain that, if there were anyone in this town who would comprehend the importance of unity and cooperation in such matters, someone who might be my educational equal, it would have been you, Miss Thatcher.”

  “That is because you have never asked me what I thought. And neither have you listened to what I’ve tried to say.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you? I’m afraid you don’t understand just how far from one another we stand.”

  “I’m flabbergasted, Miss Thatcher. In what way?”

  “In every way. From your long lectures to your fancy clothes, from the way you’re perpetually correcting the children’s speech to the way you leave God entirely out of the picture.”

  The man cocked his head, eying Beth with apparent confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t know what to say. I had no idea.”

  “Again, because you haven’t listened.”

  There came a long and awkward pause. Beth averted her eyes, hoping no one else was near enough to have overheard her outburst. She immediately regretted her words. They were far too sharp, critical, and disrespectful. She knew she had gone too far. She turned her face back toward him and held her breath. What will he say?

  He was staring back, and his eyes had narrowed. His words came smoothly and dispassionately. “I dress as I do in order to instill a proper respect for my position in my classroom. I correct my students’ speech because it isn’t likely to improve if left unchecked. In fact, I’ve never understood how you can ignore their obvious errors. What good does it do to teach one set of rules for written language but simultaneously allow everyday speech to go on unaltered? I believe this practice of yours fails the student. I lecture because it is a fundamental aspect of all teaching. I can’t see that any of these can be changed.” He took a short step forward and faced Beth directly, and she was surprised to read so little emotion in his face. His words were rather matter-of-fact despite her own display of temper. “And as far as God is concerned, I simply don’t believe in him, Miss Thatcher. He can’t be proven, and I can’t think of any reason why a supposed god would hide himself from those he makes great claims to love. Religion appears to me to be a vain attempt to control one’s environment with superstition. Therefore I have no intention of including ideals about religion in my lessons.”

  Instead of anger Beth now felt almost frightened. How can he say such things?

  “You see, Miss Thatcher, I haven’t tried to change your personal convictions with which I don’t agree. Of course I believe it would be beneficial for you to amend your ways, but in the end it is I who will have the most influence in this community. At your insistence I teach the older students only. And speaking frankly, it matters very little how many Christian stories and verses from the Bible you have your younger class repeat aloud and often—I will have the lasting influence, you see. I’m afraid that in the end they’ll leave behind the nonsense you’ve taught them as easily as they do all other childish fairy tales when they mature toward properly disciplined thought under my instruction.”

  Beth could only stare with wide eyes.

  He paused. “Yet still, I feel as if, if you could just hear me out, you’d understand that—”

  “No, sir. I assure you that I will not.” Beth spun on her heel and rushed on to the safety of her own classroom, her face burning with anger.

  I will not cry, she repeated, pacing in tight circles through the room while trying to regain her composure. I will not cry. Then under her breath, “But I might just move my chalkboard so it covers your ridiculous door, you unreasonable and arrogant man!”

  CHAPTER

  10

  MOLLY, I HAVE A DILEMMA,” Beth said over her shoulder as she rolled small balls of dough into bun shapes and placed them on a baking sheet.

  “Ya do, dearie? Sounds serious.” The aroma from a batch of bread already in the oven wafted through the kitchen.

  Beth wasn’t certain how much she should share, even with Molly. “It’s about . . . well, the new teacher. Do you realize that he doesn’t believe in God—at all?”

  With quick hands Molly began punching down another large pan of dough. “That’s a shame. Guess we all got our work cut out fer us to help him along.”

  “Yes, we do.” Molly’s response touched at a guilty nerve. “On the other hand, doesn’t it concern you that he has so much influence over the children? His position is such a pivotal one for their impressionable minds.”

  Pulling a clean cloth over the dough and hoisting it over to a place beside the warm stove, Molly returned to the kitchen table, wiped her hands on her apron, and eased herself onto a chair. “He does at that, but it sure don’t leave the rest of us silent.”

  “No, no, I’m not implying that. But I am concerned about the kinds of things he’s been teaching them in class. Has Marnie said anything to you?”

  “Not about that. She don’t seem to enjoy his wordy teachin’ style, and she’d like to complain about his quirks, though I don’t let her get away with such, but she ain’t said nothin’ about what he believes.”

  The report surprised Beth. She tore off another piece of dough and began rolling it thoughtfully. “It may not be that obvious—just comes through in the way he explains things, in how he discusses each lesson. Histor
y and science, even mathematics. I’m afraid his way of looking at the world pervades everything else.”

  “Same with us. It ain’t right if what ya believe don’t alter everything else. Ya want a cup of tea?”

  Her casual response annoyed Beth. “No, thank you. Molly, it’s just that if the wrong beliefs are allowed to become integrated into a young person’s mind, it’s so difficult to remove them later.”

  “You sure ya don’t want tea?” Molly stretched to retrieve two cups and saucers from a nearby shelf and set them on the table.

  The happy sound of teacups clattering softly against their saucers made Beth reconsider the offer. “Yes, fine then.” Molly went to the stove for hot water and the tea fixings, whisking away the sheet of buns Beth had just finished.

  As she wiped her hands on her borrowed apron, Beth worked to collect her thoughts. Nick’s face rose again to her mind, and she frowned. “I feel it’s our duty to safeguard these children against false teachings while they’re young,” she finally said. “It’s so important that we’re careful about who influences them.” Molly’s head bobbed in agreement, encouraging Beth to go on. “We’re answerable for what we allow into their lives, especially while they’re so young. And I’m afraid Robert has his own agenda.”

  “How so?”

  Beth leaned closer and confided, “As nearly as I can gather from his conversation with Jarrick and Philip, he places education . . . well, in the position of God. He believes that the ills of our age can be overcome by humanity if we’re simply educated well enough.”

  “Well, dearie, that don’t seem too surprising comin’ from a teacher.”

  “But it’s modern humanism, pure and simple. It makes mankind into gods.”